circle7 | ACTION TIME

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ACTION TIME

The two days had come and gone since Locke stayed over at Weiler's. He was tipsy when Weiler had called that night and made their two day check-in rule - not that he forgot, but he couldn't stop the nagging feeling that something was off when he went to bed that night.

On the morning of the third day, he remembered.

The rule was to get out. He tried calling Weiler once, in case he had forgotten his own rule, but Locke was sure by now that it wasn't like him. It was all the sign he needed when the call went straight to voice mail. He headed right out the door of his room, only gathering his pistol and communicator. Through the bustling of the soldiers' morning routines, he managed to keep himself fairly blended in. No one seemed to be looking on him any differently. Locke was on the last stretch of the emergency escape route of Gladsheim's base - for Circle members, that was - when someone called his name.

His real name.

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He wasn't quite down for the count yet. Locke jerked out of his grasp, also out of breath, his fist flying out at Vercelli.

"Wh-- Jesus," Vercelli managed to block the punch with his wrist, but the blow sent the taser flying out of his palm. The wide-eyed look on his face was all too telling that he hadn't expected the retaliation, and he had good reason not to. It wasn't everyday that someone could launch a punch after being floored by a taser. Vercelli's own reflexes were no less reactive, and he landed his knee into Locke's stomach.

He retrieved his gun from Locke's holster, immediately firing it.

Click.

Click.

Locke had emptied the barrel by shooting stray bullets.

In the time it took Vercelli to realize the clip was emptied, he managed to regain himself from the blow to the stomach. He was a little unsteady, but now with the two of them unarmed, he had a better chance after just being tazed. There was no wait between Vercelli's realization and Locke pursuing again, going for another punch to the captain's gut.

Taking the punch, Vercelli bit down on his lip, recoiling for a brief moment before he lashed out with his knuckles. There were a thunder of footsteps gaining on them. It'd only be a moment before Locke was out of time, so Vercelli did his best to restrain the man where he was.

Damn it. He had to get through that door and lock it down before they came. The punch glanced Locke's jaw when he jerked to dodge, his fists raising to guard his face, throwing his foot out to connect his boot to Vercelli's torso. He dug in his pocket for the card.

Grunting as Locke's heel dug into his chest, Vercelli's felt his back flatten against the ground. He sprung up with his waist, arms constricting around Locke's leg and twisting.

Locke had just enough time to slap the card to the panel, but before he could get through the hissing doors, he grunted out in pain as his leg was twisted. It threw off his balance, but he worked it to his advantage, using the momentum of his fall to pin Vercelli's chest with his knee, just below the neck. One of Locke's hands reached down, closing around his throat. The footsteps were getting closer - he didn't have time to cut off his air to make him pass out.

He yanked Vercelli to his feet, holding him arm width's out. God, he really didn't want to hurt Boss's son unnecessarily. Not that he knew the man's relationship with his son, but it was simply a risk he wasn't willing to take that Boss might've cared any bit for this little shit. (They say Boss executed people with a big, demonic grin - after setting that poison guy on them.)

Readying the card, Locke planned to toss Vercelli out, close the door, and lock it with a code that would take about 60 seconds to override. Plenty of time. Ready, set, go.

Vercelli was on the ground again. A featherweight in contrast to Locke, the toss had landed him a good three feet from the door. He caught his fall on his knees and palms, looking like a discombobulated lump of limbs as he tried to gather himself in a stand immediately after. The fall delayed him long enough for Locke to make it through the doorway.

That didn't stop Vercelli from trying to stop him, though. Vercelli charged the door as it was closing, and while he wasn't able to shoulder his way through the gap between the closing doors, he attempted to stop them by way of force by sticking his foot at the base of the cap and prying the doors apart with his fingers. Unfortunately for Vercelli, the door didn't have a safety lock.

"AUUGHHH."

"Idiot," Locke mumbled breathlessly, smashing the lock code into the panel. Vercelli would be stuck there a while. "Hope you don't have plans for the next minute, Captain."

Vercelli had been able to work his fingers out of the vice of the door, and although significantly sore, he was able to ball them into a fist and pound against the sheet of metal separating him from Locke. His toe hadn't been so lucky. It was probably very broken.

"I'LL KILL YOU, BASTARD."

Locke rolled his eyes, heading on his way to the cells. There was a slight limp to his run from the twisting of his leg, and he ached in various places now, but there was no time to accommodate pain. That door would open back up in less than a minute.

At the cells, Locke hid himself behind a corner, cursing that he didn't grab a weapon before getting here. There were two guards to each side of the door, clearly on alert after the alarms went off. (He didn't realize the two were actually on the Circle's side; two agents that managed to slip under the radar of the military's sudden rat sweep.)

Because there was a commotion everywhere, it was nearly impossible for Locke to hear the pair of footsteps running rapidly in his direction until they were almost on him, and even then, they neither slowed down nor made any attempt to fall lighter for the sake of stealth. In fact, the body that bumped full into him was turned such that it was their backs that collided, resulting in an awkward tangle of ankles and feet as whoever it was tried to pry themselves away.

After that, if Locke was expecting a blow or the end of a tazer on par with what he had experienced with Vercelli, he was sorely mistaken, but not by too much. The next thing that collided with him was the end of a gun barrel, pointed but not jabbed into the middle of his chest. It shook a little, like the hands that were holding it were having difficulty stabilizing its weight, maybe because the fingers on one of them looked awkwardly bent and swollen, like someone had grabbed hold of a joint and pressed just a little too far the wrong way.

Gray eyes widened. Weiler sucked in a short breath. "Nic...Locke."

The first thing Locke registered was a gun pointed at him, and he froze, hands up in surrender. The second was familiar blonde hair (thrown out of its usual pristine state) and gray eyes. His shoulders sagged with temporary relief, exhaling.

"Weiler," he said, glancing from his face to his hands, "it'd be nice if you stopped pointing that at me."

Weiler laughed under his breath, more an expulsion of air than anything, and lowered his arms. "Which cell were you in? I didn't see them take you in."

"They didn't," he clarified, easing the both of them to their feet. "How did you- actually, let's get out of here first. Are you injured anywhere else?"

"It's not-" Weiler's eyes narrowed suspiciously. That didn't make sense.

"If you weren't arrested, how come you're here? All Circle members are supposed to make a beeline for an escape pod."

"Got blocked off," Locke said quickly. "Had to improvise. You coming or not?"

The look of suspicion persisted for only a second - perhaps a remnant of an instinct that had all but faded to be vestigial in present company. Weiler sagged a little where he stood, rubbing his cheek with his good hand. "Yeah, I'm'-"

And then he all but fell forward as his knees buckled, going down like a puppet with its strings cut.

Weiler was still conscious, eyes going a little wide as if he were surprised at the sudden motion himself, but the explanation was more than obvious upon closer inspection. There was a blooming red patch near the middle of his back, off to the left just a little, staining his rumpled dress shirt an unappealing pink. Thankfully, he caught himself on Locke's arm before he could plant his face into the unforgiving ground, however.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled, barely catching Weiler in a way that didn't bump against the wound. The man was light, at least, easy to situate again. Locke was growing anxious, though, with their narrowing time and being in the middle of a dead-end hallway.

He didn't wait for permission - Locke carefully, but swiftly, pulled Weiler's arms over his shoulders so he could ease him up onto his back. He hooked his arms under his legs and adjusted him.

"I hope you can aim from up there," Locke said.

"Whoa, easy there, cowboy," Weiler muttered, steadying a hand on Locke's shoulder as he was spontaneously manhandled. Apparently he fell back to archaic terms when either flirting or injured. Nothing seemed to shock him out of his ability to make light of the situation, though. "Didn't ask for a ride, but I suppose I can't complain."

He steadied his injured hand against Locke's other shoulder, looping his good arm around Locke's neck. This was and felt a bit ridiculous, but this was a better alternative to walking, which would jostle the deep bullet graze on his back a little more than he really needed to. Considering Locke himself didn't seem armed, it was a good compromise as any.

Or so it could be rationalized.

Weiler looked down at the back of Locke's head. "Were you looking for me?"

There was a long silence as he checked around the corner.

"Don't be stupid," Locke said, a little quieter. "It's against emergency protocol."

A heavy sigh followed that, and Weiler fell against Locke more heavily than would suggest he was only doing it out of jest.

"That's disappointing. Dashing all my dreams of being rescued like a fair maiden all at once," Weiler teased, only to have his whining drawl cut short with a muffled hiss as his injured hand pushed a little too hard against Locke's back. It was a problem quickly rectified, but also a quick damper on the situation. His tone was wry when he added, "Either way, I'm pretty lucky. I was in a bit of a...pinch."

Locke relieved one hand temporary, settling it on Weiler's arm. The short, worried rub of his thumb was considerably more fond than his claim just a moment ago.

"Easy," he mumbled. "And we're still in a pinch, really."

"Infinitely better than five minutes ago," Weiler shot back. He seemed quick to recover, considering the bark of laughter following that, thumping his good hand against Locke's shoulder. "And I'll say - I wasn't even the only one in trouble. Herr Cupid, running around an enemy ship with no weapon. How did you even get this far? Your access should have been locked down the moment they came for you."

"I'm clever," he answered, leaving the corner they were tucked away in. "Stole an upper officer's card, who in turn tazed me and stole my gun." (There were two welts on the back of his neck that still burned, probably hidden under his mess of red hair.

Upon making it to another spot where they were slightly undercover, closer to the actual escape path, he added, "It was Vercelli Garamond, actually."

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